


Crumbs and belly rubs

by elenatria



Series: Hiddlesworth [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Bobby - Freeform, Depeche Mode - Freeform, Enjoy the silence, Heartbreak, Hiddlesworth, M/M, Valentine's Day, golden globes, gq, tank top, tom's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 15:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13707372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria
Summary: Chris didn't call after the Golden Globes.He didn't call on Tom's birthday.Eventually he chose the wrong day to call.





	Crumbs and belly rubs

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STORY CONTINUES [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783875/chapters/31684395). 
> 
>    
> Vows are spoken  
> To be broken  
> Feelings are intense  
> Words are trivial  
> Pleasures remain  
> So does the pain  
> Words are meaningless  
> And forgettable
> 
> All I ever wanted  
> All I ever needed  
> Is here in my arms  
> Words are very unnecessary  
> They can only do harm
> 
> [My tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
> 

“Hey, Tom…”

The deep raspy voice was followed by a momentary, thoughtful pause from the other end of the line. “Who is th- oh Chris, hi, how are you, man?”

 _“Who is this?”_ Chris scoffed. “Did you delete my number, mate?”

“Oh no,” Tom was quick to reply with that familiar awkward laughter, “it’s-it’s this stupid thing really, I bought a new phone and didn’t have the time to transfer all my contacts, you know, just the important ones.”

“Just the _important_ ones?…”

“The – c’mon, Chris, you know what I mean, the ones I know by heart, my parents, my sisters, you know.”

“I’m teasing you, mate, take it easy,” Chris chuckled like it wasn’t a big thing, like it hadn’t been months since they last spoke. “I just thought I’d call you, see how you’ve been.”

“I’m… good,” Tom said scratching wearily his brow as he peered through the window at Corby, the black-feathered neighbour who was the first to pay his respects when the actor moved in his apartment in Camden, and who was now pecking at the crumbs of hardened bread and rusks Tom had left outside the window in a small chipped cup.

“Corby and Bobby”, “The Crow and the Cocker Spaniel”, “The Black Brothers”. They could be a comedy duo, Tom thought when he was searching for a name for the little feathery fellow, or they could be comic strip characters like Garfield and Oggy, Sylvester and Tweety. There were times when he was tempted to pick up the phone, dial the number, talk about _anything_ really, the weather, the new book he was reading, the swims and the barbecues and the snakes in the yard and in the bedroom and the boomerangs on the wall and the starry Pacific nights. Instead he would always hang up before pressing a single number, distracted by Corby pecking at the glass demanding his daily dose of broken biscuits or by Bobby wagging his tail with a ball in his mouth, always eager to play when his human was finally home. His human was almost never home and when he was, Bobby would certainly not let him waste his precious playing time with long pauses over that talking cabled contraption. After all it was easier for Tom to hang up and give Bobby belly rubs until the impulse to make that call was gone. If anything, Bobby was a good listener.

Besides Tom always felt like there was nothing to talk about really. People everywhere were so eager to listen to what he had to say, and he would talk and talk and the mesmerized crowds would be hanging from his lips at every interview, every performance, every Q&A. Everyone would prick up their ears at his wisdom and charisma; everyone but his sisters who knew the real Tom and were too used to his charm. And Chris. Chris would listen for a while but when Tom started ranting he would cut him short.

_“You’re talking too much, mate.”_

Or dancing too much, or singing too much. Tom would indulge in his spontaneous displays of enthusiasm and Chris would always be there to contain him, keep him grounded. When there were people watching Chris would laugh and turn the other way, or tease him in front of everyone. When they were alone he would mock him with relentless passion until Tom blushed or pouted, or both. And if Tom was determined to not stop no matter what, Chris would resort to shutting him up by throwing him pillows. It was pillow fights or long breathtaking kissing sessions. Kisses always worked like a charm - it was an axiom. It was only then that Tom would close his eyes and enjoy the silence. And silence, in Chris’ arms, on the sofa, on the bed, on the floor, was a warm sea of deep sighs that came and went like murmuring waves. The peace would be broken only by deep desperate grunts and long ecstatic cries, until there was silence again.

“I’m good.” Tom was thinking of things to say when Bobby came to him, nuzzling his foot. “Just finishing my book. Sorry, I was distracted.”

“A book? You thinking about turning it into a movie?”

“Don’t know yet. Look, it’s just a book I’m reading, it’s nothing.” Chris wouldn’t understand anyway. Chris didn’t read books.

Tom heard him sigh and he realized that he sounded harsh and dismissive, and it was even worse because there was a time when he wasn’t like that; there was a time when he would try, a time when trying meant caring. He had begged Chris more than once to at least take a look at one of the books he recommended him, and sometimes they’d bicker about it until morning.

And then one day Tom stopped trying. Gradually they both did.

“Look, Tom, I just wanted to congratulate you on your Golden Globe, and I meant to call you on your birthday too, I know it was almost a week ago, I just reckoned you were busy, I was busy too, yeah-”

“It’s ok, Chris, it’s all good,” Tom interrupted him as that bitter feeling began to well up in his stomach again. He glanced at Corby, but Corby was finishing his lunch and was about to fly away.

“No it’s not… It’s so not. I totally wish I had called you after you got the Globe, I mean-“

“It’s ok, Chris, it’s not like it was _that_ important. I mean it was, it’s important for my work but… yeah. I kind of regret it now.”

“Tom, don’t listen to those blockheads, forget about them, what do they know.”

“No, look, I shouldn’t have talked that much, they were right. I was just nervous.”

Chris didn’t answer, and several seconds passed before he could find the right words; words that were doing their best not to hurt, not to judge.

His voice came out hoarse and broken. “You felt the need to apologize. You should never feel the need to apologize, Tom… Not for the bloody speech, not for the tank top, not for anything.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to be silent; the knot in his stomach was making it hard to speak.

“So you read the interview,” he muttered.

“Yeah, it was out today. I don’t even know why you agreed to answer those questions, GQ is getting worse than Daily Mail these days.”

Tom blinked slowly as Bobby kept rubbing his head on his leg, whimpering softly.

“I just thought people should know,” he said.

“Don’t feed those cannibals, mate.”

“It’s all good,” Tom shrugged. “At least I said what I wanted to say.”

“Do you think people will listen?”

“Did _you_ ever listen?”

Tom knew it was an unfair blow, and the words came out wrong, like they always did. No matter how hard he tried in his life to be polite there were times when he couldn’t fight the bitterness and the snark. Chris didn’t deserve this, but there it was.

“I’m listening now…” came the soft slurring response. “I know you probably don’t want to talk. I know you’re probably done talking, done explaining things to yourself, to me, to others. I just wish I was there, that’s all. When it counted. I wish the whole world was one continent, one neighbourhood. And I wish we were still cooking culinary masterpieces together and drank wine all night long.”

“It’s ok, Chris,” Tom said and his eyes were stinging. “It’s ok. We all change, it’s the one truth that holds the universe together.”

Chris sighed again, and Tom could hear his shaking breath.

“Go out, tonight, ok, mate?” Chris tried to sound cheerful but his voice was choked. “Go out and buy teddy bears and heart-shaped chocolate boxes and drink and dance your heart out, I sure won’t be there to judge you, I mean you’re an incredible dancer, Tom, an incredible dancer, you’re fucking incredible, you know that, and I always- I always wanted to… I always-“

Tom didn’t know what to say; he listened hard but now there was nothing to hear but his own heavy breathing and the soft whisper of silent sobbing from the other end of the line. Then there was nothing.

When Chris finally managed to speak again Bobby had grown tired of Tom’s unresponsive foot and had curled up in his basket, too sleepy and tired to chase his human anymore. Tom fumbled for the tissue box on the table in front of him staring out of the window at the empty cup where Corby was standing just a few minutes ago. He regretted not noticing him when he decided to fly away, he was too busy wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand.

He was always too busy to notice such things.

“Go out, ok?” Chris urged him, now composed. “Go out.”

“I will,” Tom reassured him and wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Tom.”

Tom smiled and closed his eyes. He had promised not to cry again but there he was, breaking that promise after all those months.

“Happy Valentine’s day to you too,” he said, hoping that he’d open his eyes and Corby would be back on the ledge. “Talk to you soon.”

 


End file.
